The Crone Of Midnight Embers Novels & Stories

Avera followed Blackridge back through the hidden door and into the narrow corridor, retracing the halls they had come down. The cramped corridor seemed to devour the light which disappeared suddenly and without warning, and all turned to darkness when the door shut behind them. She kept close behind him, the maurium crystals lighting their path. They walked in silence as they went, and they continued on through the dark halls of the now familiar castle.

He laughs and grips a breast painfully hard; she grimaces and tears spring to her eyes, “No, I want to prove to you that I can do whatever I want to your body right now. You have no power here, Assassin.” She takes a shaky breath and tries to turn her head into the pillow as he continues to apply pressure to her breast. There’s a knock at the door and he releases her. “Come in!” An ancient looking crone of a Witch enters, “Ah, Emmaline.” So, she was to have a pregnancy test now then, great. “Do what you must.” Emmaline nods,

Ember was still there, lying on the ground in the exact spot where she had been kneeling hours ago. The faint moonlight streaming through the window illuminated her fragile form. Her arms were folded beneath her, and her shoulders were hunched, as if the weight of her words and the pain of her confession had crushed her. I could still hear the tremble in her voice as she had explained her history with Thane, her words unraveling the truth and the way he had destroyed the Mating Ritual for the Scar Moon Pack. Taking three cautious steps closer to her, I crouched down, my breath catching in my throat. An overwhelming urge surged through me—a primal, unrelenting need to claim her as mine.

The villain will surely go mad seeing her body. [This blind date of hers is quite good-looking, too. No wonder the villain's been jealous for so long.] [Why are there so many people siding with the villain? How disgusting! She deserves her death! I really want to see the hero taking the villain down!] When I woke up once more, it was back to midnight again. The moonlight shone dimly into the lounge as my hand was on the window latch, about to open the window. [Don't open the window! There's no cat outside! It's a serial killer!]

The red of her eyes glowed and everyone’s candles lit simultaneously. Her chant carried across the clearing, smooth and steady “By lunar’s breath an elders flame, By tides that pull and sky’s that claim, We present our sister, Anastasia. Bearer of the crescent path, High Priestess of birthright.” The coven responded together, like a perfect symphony. It pulsed through the ground, through the water, and through my chest. My heart began to race but not with fear. I could feel all of them. Not just their emotions, but their souls.

The crone curtsied in front of him. A hedgewitch walked forward and showed him the contents of the urn. Lucifer smiled at it and then he turned to the crone. "I will give you 110 seconds. Remember the god in heaven is watching you, and if you stay there for more the time I gave you, angels will throw you in the well that you crones hate." The crone nodded. "I'll make sure I will stay no longer than 110 seconds." Demons took the urn from the hedge witch. The witch looked at the crone.

A pattern forming from pieces I’ve been refusing to hold up to the light. Something I cannot let myself finish thinking. Because it is already too late. The magic comes up from the floor. It rises from the glowing runes, from the climbing fire, from the deep old stones that Red Creek was built on. It pours itself into the moonstone bowl. The two separate streams of blood — mine and Emily’s — begin to turn, picking up speed with each rotation, dragged into a spiral by the current Morwen’s chanting is generating. Her voice finds its highest point. The herbs leave her fingers and land in the bowl. They burn away in a single instant — silver ash where green matter had been.

Sarreth said, standing up at her table and walking to the front of the sofa I was sitting on. "Who the fuck?" I demanded flatly. Sarreth's arms were crossed. "Brat, stop cursing." I cracked a grin. "Why tho? This is ridiculous, Sarreth." I replied, my hand included more action in the air. Sarreth simply smiled at me and answered my previous question again, which was the reason for me to come to a halt. "Have you heard the story of the first vampire, Celare? It says in the books I've read and heard from my parents that the first vampire's mate is a human," Sarreth says.

He sat up. And saw her. Standing in the doorway. Scar under her jaw. Smoke still in her hair. But her eyes? Peaceful. And dangerous. She said nothing. He said: “Did you win?” Ember walked forward. And said the only thing that mattered. “I remembered who I am.” LOCATION: Cinder Vault – Post-Erasure TIME: 11:41 a.m. The vault was collapsing. Flames crawled along the ceiling panels, eating away the metal like old sins peeling free of bone. The purge sequence ticked louder with every step Ember took.

“Then I’ll carry one last ember into the dark.” A New Flame Rises At twilight, the Hollow gathered one final time. Not for battle. Not for ceremony. But for offering. Each citizen, apprentice, Keeper, and carrier brought a single coal—dormant, untouched, blessed only with intention. Serena stood at the center. She knelt. And placed her ember in the new basin. Slowly, one by one, they joined her. Until the basin brimmed with shared coals. And as the final flame was born—not hers, not Maeron’s, not Atheira’s—but theirs—